ORESTES 

A   Tragedy 


ORESTES 

A   Tragedy 

by 
Richard  Le  Gallienne 


NEW  YORK 

MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 
MCMX 


Copyright,  IQIO, 
by  Mitchell  Kennerley 


The  acting  rights  of  Orestes  are  the  property 
of  William  Faversham 


College 
Library 


TO  WILLIAM  AND  JULIE  PAVERS  HAM 

IN  FRIENDSHIP  AND  WITH  HIGH 

ADMIRATION    OF    THEIR 

NOBLE  ARTISTIC  GIFTS 

AND    IDEALS 


The  following  play  has  been  written  at  the  in- 
stance of  Mr.  William  Faversham,  who,  being 
desirous  of  producing  a  music-drama  on  the 
story  of  Orestes,  to  the  accompaniment  of  Mas- 
senet's music — music  originally  written  for 
Leconte  de  Lisle's  "  Les  Erinnyes " — and  not 
being  satisfied  with  the  dramatic  qualities  of  De 
Lisle's  play,  asked  me  to  make  for  him  another 
version. 

In  making  this  version,  I  have,  therefore, 
been  somewhat  circumscribed  by  the  necessity 
of  following  the  lead  of  the  music,  particularly 
in  the  first  act,  which  I  desire  the  reader  to  re- 
gard as  a  prologue,  and  subsidiary  to  the  second 
act,  which  is  the  real  play. 

In  both  acts,  as  has  been  the  case  with  others 
who  have  treated  the  theme,  I  have,  in  the  main, 
followed  JEschylus,  for  the  dramatic  action; 
but  the  interpretation  of  the  characters,  and  the 
words  which  I  have  put  into  their  mouths,  are 
entirely  my  own. 

RICHARD  LE  GALLIENNE 

February,  IQIO. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS 

AGAMEMNON  King   of   Argos 

CLYTEMNESTRA  His  Wife 

ORESTES  Their  Son 

ELECTRA  Their  Daughter 

CASSANDRA     .      Daughter  of  Priam,  King  of  Troy 
^EciSTHUS  Second  Husband  of  Clytemnestra  and 

a  cousin  of  Agamemnon 

PYLADES  Friend  of  Orestes 

CALLIRHOE  One  of  Electra's  Maidens 

TALTHYBIOS   ) 

T,  V  Old  Men  of  Argos 

EURYBATES       j 

OTHER  ARGIVE  ELDERS 

WATCHMAN 

A  SERVANT 

THE  FURIES 

Chorus  of  Old   Men.     Chorus  of   Libation-Pourers. 
Soldiers,  Sailors,  Captives,  and  Common  People. 

A  period  of  ten  years  elapses  between  the  first  and 
second  Acts. 


ORESTES,  A  TRAGEDY 

ACT  I 

SCENE  i 

Portico  of  the  old  palace  of  the  Atreidtz.  Just  be- 
fore dawn.  Argos  dimly  seen  between  the  columns 
of  the  palace.  The  Furies  go  silently  to  and  fro  in 
the  shadows.  The  day  daivns.  The  Furies  disap- 
pear. 

Old  men  of  Argos  enter,  leaning  on  their  staves, 
and  divide  into  two  groups,  to  right  and  left  of  the 
stage.  Talthybios  and  Eurybates  stand  somewhat  in 
front. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Ten  years  are  almost  gone,  and  still  no  sight 
Of   their   returning  sails!     For  ten   long  years, 
There  on  the  palace  roof,  the  watchman  counts 
The  stars,  and  sings  to  keep  himself  awake; 
But  still  no  beacon  fire  from  Ida  flares, 
In  aery  signal,  on  from  cape  to  cape. 

EURYBATES. 

Was  ever  such  a  fleet  upon  the  sea, 
Or  such   an   armoured  hum  of  fighting  souls! 
'Twas  hard  to  be  old  men,  Taltb^bios, 
3 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


Good  but  to  stay  at  home  with  women  and  babes, 
'Mid  all  that  gleam  of  bronze  and  flash  of  oars, 
And  see  their  high-pooped  galleys  sail  away. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

All  for  a  woman's  face — a  painted  flower! 
So  many  ships,  such  treasure  of  strong  men, 
Beautiful  strength  hoarded  and  husbanded, 
And  sternly  tempered  in  the  soldier's  school, 
All  that  heroic  beat  of  noble  hearts 
To  such  an  end — to  bring  a  wanton  home 
To  the  dishonoured  threshold  of  her  lord! 
O  wizardry  we  softly  name  a  woman, 
Divider  and  destroyer  of  the  world — 
All  for  the  face  of  Helen,  Eurybates! 

EURYBATES. 

My  heart  is  heavy  thinking  of  them  gone 
These  many  years,  some  dying  unknown  deaths, 
Far  from  the  rites  that  bring  the  spirit  peace, 
And  some  in  urns  so  softly  coming  home — 
Think  you  that  Agamemnon  will  return? 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Who  knows  but  happier  they  that  yonder  fell, 
And  in  an  alien  soil  unquiet  sleep, 
Than  some  home-coming  after  all  these  years! 
Yea!  I  can  think  of  one  who  best  had  stayed 
On  guard  at  home,  than  faring  to  avenge 
4 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


Another's  hearth;  but,  as  the  proverb  is, 
An  ox  be  on  our  tongues,  not  ours  to  speak. 

EURYBATES. 

If  stones  had  voices,  the  old  house  could  tell 
A  pretty  tale  of  these  ten  absent  years. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Alas !  we  are  but  withered-up  old  men, 
Moving  like  shadows  on  the  stable  world, 
With  no  power  left  us  but  the  power  of  prayer. 
O  Zeus!  that  on  the  throne  of  yonder  sky 
Watches  thro'  veils  of  blue  our  little  lives, 
God  of  eternal  justice,  that  through  all 
The  wrath  and  wrong  and  welter  of  the  world 
Guards  and  guides  safe  the  good  to  its  good  end, 
Great  Zeus,  forget  not  Argos  and  its  King! 

(Enter  the  Watchman  precipitately} 

WATCHMAN. 

The  beacon  fire!     At  last  it  flares  to  heaven — 
Ilium  is  fallen  and  the  King  comes  home. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

His  wits  are  gone,  with  watching  all  these  years. 

WATCHMAN. 

Nay,  it  is  true — I  saw  it  with  these  eyes. 

(Enter  Clytemnestra} 
5 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Hail,  friends !  and  share  with  me  a  new-found  joy — 
His  tale  is  true:  the  aery  courier  comes, 
Speeding  by  many  a  sea-lone  promontory, 
A  kiss  of  fire  from  Agamemnon's  lips, 
As  though  he  snatched  a  brand  from  out  the  blaze 
Of  burning  Troy  and  tossed  it  flaming  to  us — 
Can  you  not  hear  the  shouting  and  the  crash 
Of  falling  towers,  the  ruining  of  fire, 
And  all  the  wail  and  all  the  victory ! 

TALTHYBIOS. 

We  have  grown  old  with  waiting  for  this  news, 
And  yet  can  scarce  believe  it.     Is  it  true, 
Or  but  a  woman's  hope  that  it  be  true? 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Am  I  a  girl  to  bring  tales  out  of  dreams! 
The  watchman  ran  to  me  as  still  I  slept, 
And  waked  me  with  this  wonder — and  I  saw, 
Glorying  the  grey  of  dawn,  the  leaping  light! 
And  all  my  life,  that  in  a  winter  sleep 
Went  darkling  for  his  face  these  widowed  years, 
Sent  up  a  light  of  joy  to  answer  it — 
And  then  I  lost  it  in  a  storm  of  tears, 
That,  like  an  April  window,  smote  my  eyes; 
And  still  again  I  looked,  and  still  it  burned. 
Let  Argos  put  its  wedding  garment  on, 
And  sing  for  joy,  and  be  a  child  again, 
6 


Richard  Le  Gallicnne 


For  Agamemnon's  ships  are  on  the  sea, 

And  homeward  sunshine  lights  the  warrior's  face. 

Old  friends,  bear  witness  for  me  when  he  comes, 

That  I,  true  wife,  have  faithfully  bestowed 

His  various  trust,  nor  broke  one  seal  of  his 

On  chest  or  treasure,  nor  till  now  have  known 

A  joy  without  him  all  these  waiting  years. 

(Exit) 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


SCENE  2 

Enter  Talthybios,  Eurybates  and  Chorus  of  Old 
Men. 

EURYBATES. 

I  hear  a  murmur,  like  the  roar  of  streams! 

TALTHYBIOS. 

A  multitudinous  voice  of  mighty  joy! 

EURYBATES. 

The  call  of  trumpets,  and  the  clash  of  arms, 
And  the  hoarse  sea-like  song  of  victory! — 
It  is  the  King — the  people  rend  the  sky. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Zeus  save  us  from  the  Furies  in  the  shade! 

EURYBATES. 

Old  evil  hangs  about  the  ancient  doors, 

And  in  the  sunlight  sable  shadows  steal, 

And   at   the   windows  watching   spectres   stand; 

God  grant  a  happy  issue  to  this  day ! 

(A  sound  of  people  marching  and  singing.    They 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


enter  and  surround  the  palace,  followed  by  proces- 
sions of  warriors  and  sailors  and  Trojan  captives, 
till  finally  Agamemnon  and  Clytemnestra  enter  in 
a  chariot,  with  Cassandra,  and  the  principal  cap- 
tains of  the  A r give  army) 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Welcome,  my  King,  and  welcome,  husband,  home! 
The  old  house  of  your  fathers  laughs  once  more, 
That  was  so  long  a  place  of  woman's  tears; 
And  the  old  faithful  love  spreads  out  its  arms, 
To  take  you  to  your  ancient  place  again. 
Not,  stitch  by  stitch,  a  woman's  tale  I'll  tell 
Here,  in  this  laurelled  hour,  of  all  my  fears, 
Of  lying  tales  that  came  on  travelling  lips, 
And  omens  of  the  night,  and  whispered  things 
Of  sea  and  wind,  that  moaned  about  the  house, 
Nor  of  a  mother's  aching  heart  will  speak, 
That  scans  your  sunlit  laurels  all  in  vain 
For  the  white  flower  of  Iphigenia's  face. 
Let  glory  and  gladness  have  their  lyric  hour, 
And  praise  of  the  high  gods  that  brought  you  home, 
With  such  a  harvest  of  undying  deeds ! 
Whiles  as  we  wept  and  waited,  woman-like, 
Through  the  long  afternoons,  against  this  hour, 
We  wove,  with  shuttles  of  our  faithful  hearts, 
This  tapestry  for  your  victorious  feet, 
Patterned  and  purpled  for  a  conqueror's  tread — 
Twas  all  a  woman's  little  might  availed 
9 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


To  have  a  part  in  this  resounding  day. 
Disdain  not,  Agamemnon,  then  to  walk 
Upon  this  pathway  of  our  woven  tears. 

(As  she  ends,  maidens  spread  tapestry  before  the 
feet  of  Agamemnon) 

AGAMEMNON. 

Argos  again!     First  greetings  unto  you, 

Beloved  land,  and  to  the  holy  gods 

Bowed  heads  and  hearts,  that  had  you  in  their  care 

These  many  years;  with  wordless  joy  I  greet 

All  the  old  lovely  faithful  face  of  things, 

Temples  and  towers  and  ways  familiar, 

And  my  old  friends  and  my  dear  wife  and  home. 

Long  is  the  tale  to  tell  of  all  our  deeds 

Since  'gainst  the  Trojan  hosts  we  sailed  away, 

And  saw  your  faces  fade,  and  the  sea  wind 

Went  fluttering  in  and  out  through  your  farewells; 

'Twill  serve  the  hearth  for  many  a  winter's  tale 

And  minstrel's  song — enough  that  we  have  done 

The  work  of  Zeus,  and  Troy's  adulterous  towers 

Are  towers  of  wreathing  smoke  and  licking  flame: 

So  prosper  evil-doing  on  the  earth, 

And  insolence  of  lust  and  mortal  pride; 

For  Heaven  is  just,  and  vengeance  never  sleeps. 

( Turning  to  Clytemnestra,  and  pointing  to   the 
tapestry  at  his  feet) 
10 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


Nay,  let  barbaric  kings  on  purple  tread, 
Such  state  is  not  for  us  who  know  the  gods, 
How  jealous  they  of  mortal  majesty, 
And  the  brief  pomp  of  swollen  emperors: 
The  holy  soil  of  Argos  let  me  tread, 
Whence  am  I  sprung,  and  whither  I  descend. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

'Tis  but  a  woman's  fancy — let  me  have  it. 

AGAMEMNON. 

A  woman's  fancy  burned  the  towers  of  Troy. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Nay,  let  me  have  this  happiness  to-day. 

AGAMEMNON. 

Be't  so,  then,  Clytemnestra, — but  yon  sun 

Be  witness  that  my  heart  wears  no  such  pride. 

(Pointing  to  Cassandra) 

This  princess,  captive  to  our  conquering  arms, 
The  flowering  last  of  a  long  line  of  kings, 
Take  with  a  royal  kindness  to  your  care: 
'Tis  gracious  and  well-pleasing  to  the  gods 
Mildly  to  wield  the  rod  of  victory. 

(Agamemnon  enters  the  palace  followed  by  Cly- 
temnestra and  attendants) 
II 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


(Re-enter    Clytemnestra,    addressing    Cassandra, 
who  stands  mute  and  immobile,  in  the  chariot) 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Nay,  follow  us,  Cassandra,  whom  my  lord 
Regards  with  such  a  kindness  in  his  eye, 
Fear  not  such  entertainment  as  a  house 
Of  kings  to  a  king's  daughter  may  not  lack, 
Though  she  in  chains. 

(Cassandra  makes  no  sign  of  hearing) 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Do  you  not  hear  the  Queen? 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Hath  she  no  understanding  of  our  tongue? 
When  Agamemnon  spake,  she  seemed  to  hear. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

The  Queen  commands  you  enter  in  the  house. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Tell  her,  some  one  of  you  that  knows  her  speech, 
When  Clytemnestra  bids  she  must  obey, 
Were  she  ten  times  the  daughter  of  a  king. 
I  may  not  tarry  longer,  see  you  to  it. 

(Enters  the  palace) 

12 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


CASSANDRA.     (Slowly    turning    toward    a   statue    of 

Apollo,  and  suddenly  crying  out) 
Apollo — O  Apollo!     Woe  is  me! 
What  house  is  this  that  smells  of  infants'  blood? 

TALTHYBIOS. 

This  is  the  house  of  Atreus  and  his  sons. 

CASSANDRA. 

O  bitter  god!  so  to  misguide  my  feet! 
O  cruel  love!     O  too  great  punishment! 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Why  to  Apollo  make  you  such  appeal  ? 

CASSANDRA. 

Once,  in  a  frenzy  of  immortal  love, 
He  touched  my  maiden  lips  with  prophecy, 
And  then,  all  anger,  made  his  gift  in  vain; 
For  lo!  the  fearful  future  like  a  scroll 
Clearly  I  read,  but  no  man  hearkens  me. 

(Suddenly  shrieks  as  in  horror) 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Why  do  you  gaze  so  strangely  on  the  air? 

CASSANDRA. 

See  yonder,  see  you  not?  those  wailing  babes 
13 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


There  on  the  palace  roof — and  whence  this  fume 
Of  burning  flesh     .     .     .     O  horrible!     I  see 
A  father's  children  murdered  for  his  food! 

EURYBATES. 

.'Tis   very   strange,   Talthybios;   yea,   she   sees 

Thyestes'  meal  of  his  own  little  ones, 

That  Atreus  carved  for  him  on  plates  of  gold. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Surely  she  hath  some  vision  of   the  god — 
But  mark  her  now     .     .     . 

CASSANDRA. 

O  fearful  house,  all  dabbled  o'er  with  blood    .    .    . 

Blood,  blood,  in  all  the  rooms;  blood  everywhere, 

The  whole  red  air  one  steam  and  song  of  blood; 

And  a  dark  sound  of  wings  that  well  I  know 

In  all  the  stairways  and  the  corridors! 

Yet,  yet  more  blood  I  see     .     .     . 

The  woman  yonder — plain  I  see  it  all  — 

Even  at  this  moment,  murders  in  a  dream     .     .     . 

Yea!  her  own  lord  it  is — I  see  his  face     . 

She  traps  him  yonder  in  a  silver  bath — 

The  smooth  white  heifer  gores  the  royal  bull! 

Horror!     Yea!  also  my  own  end  I  see 

Ah!  bitter  god  that  brought  me  here  to  die! 

EURYBATES. 

You  are  distraught     .     .     .     here  is  no  more  than 
madness. 

14 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


CASSANDRA. 

Yea!  it  was  ever  so!     No  man  believes — 

Though  now  the  very  act  hangs  in  the  air, 

Gathering  its  lightning.     So  Troy  mocked  me  once, 

Turning  deaf  ears  to  all  my  warning  cry. 

The  flaming  towers  I  saw — they  would  not  hear; 

The  shattered   shrines,   the  falling  palaces! 

I  saw  Scamandros  choked  with  heroes  dead, 

My  river  where,  a  maid,  I  gathered  flowers; 

I  saw  my  father  lying  in  his  blood, 

And  all  my  brothers  dead,  with  broken  swords. 

They  would  not  hear — so  cruel  was  the  god — 

And  who  is  left  in  Troy  to  hear  me  now! 

Beloved  land,  no  prophecy  could  save! 

O  double  doom — in  vain  to  see  the  doom, 

Like  one  who  calls  out  wildly  in  a  dream, 

And  finds  no  help,  held  fast  in  horror's  arms. 

So  to  my  death  through  yonder  door  I  go, — 

May  the  god  meet  me  on  the  other  side, 

And  give  me  back  his  love,  and  lift  this  curse 

That  makes  me  half  immortal  all  in  vain. 

(Breaks  her  wand,  and  unwinds  her  ivreaths  and 
casts  them  from  her} 

So  throw  I  off  these  weeds  of  prophecy, 
A  doomed  and  simple  woman  of  the  earth. 

(Again  becoming  entranced  and  gazing  at  the  air) 
15 


Orestes,  A  Tragedy 


Nay!  but  it  will  not  leave  me,  still  it  seems 

The    visions    throng     .     .     .     horror    on    horror 

breeds     .     .     « 

And  a  dim  day  of  which  this  day  is  father 
I  see  approaching,  as  a  royal  boy 
Waxes  to  manhood,  exiled  from  his  home; 
A  day  on  which  a  son  shall  slay  his  mother, 
To  avenge  the  father  whose  last  mortal  cry 
Is  at  this  moment  shaping  on  his  lips, 
And  but  awaits  the  opening  of  a  door     .     .     . 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Speak  not  such  fearful  things — we  dare  not  hear. 

CASSANDRA. 

Strange  that  for  you  all  this  is  yet  to  do ; 
To  me  they  are  as  dead  a  thousand  years, 
And  I  a  woman  talking  in  a  grave     .     .     . 

(Half  opens  the  palace  door) 

Pah !  like  a  grave  it  smells,  this  opening  door    .    .    . 
I  dare  not  enter — yea!  sweet  death,  I  dare. 

(Enters  the  palace) 

TALTHYBIOS. 

She  seems  the  very  body  of  my  fears, 
The  coming  true  of  my  most  midnight  thoughts. 
16 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


EURYBATES. 

Unhappy  house!     Will  the  sun  never  warm, 
Nor  the  stars  bless  you,  as  in  days  of  old! 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Nay!     Fate's  long  shadow  on  the  old  house  lies, 
And  the  eternal  ache  of  ancient  sin 
Curses  the  youngest  heart  in  its  old  halls. 

EURYBATES. 

The  stain  of  bloo'd  no  man  shall  wash  away. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Only  new  blood  new-shed  shall  wash  it  clean ; 
Till  the  last  drop  of  recompense  be  paid, 
Still  shall  the  victims  bleed,  and  still  the  house 
Be  made  of  shadows  and  doom  and  horror  and  death. 

(A  cry  in  the  palace} 

AGAMEMNON. 

My  sword!     Give  me  my  sword! 

TALTHYBIOS. 

What  was  that  fearful  cry! 

EURYBATES. 
Was  it  the  King! 

17 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


AGAMEMNON.     (Within) 
Cowards!     Ah,  God!  I  die! 

TALTHYBIOS. 

'Tis  Agamemnon! 

ALL.      (Wildly  in  fear  and  confusion) 
Is  it  the  King? 

EURYBATES. 

We  are  so  old,  so  old     .     .     . 

TALTHYBIOS. 

'Tis  Agamemnon  going  to  his  doom. 

EURYBATES. 

Shall  we  not  go  and  knock  upon  the  door     .     .     . 
Maybe     .     .     . 

(Confused  sounds  within.     The  crowd  murmurs, 
overawed  and  irresolute) 

TALTHYBIOS. 

The  girl  said  right — Death  waited  there  inside   .  .  . 
Though  my  old  limbs  shake,  I  will  to  the  door. 

(The  palace  door  is  suddenly  thrown  open.     En- 
ter  Clytemnestra,   sword    in    hand,    her  robe 
stained  with  blood) 
18 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Yea!  he  is  dead!     I  killed  him  with  these  hands. 
Do  what  you  will  with  me,  you  men  of  Argos! 
My  daughter  is  avenged,  her  innocent  blood 
Is  paid  for,  and  the  man  you  called  your  King 
Lies  yonder  dead  beside  his  concubine — 
Princess  of  Troy  and  prophetess  forsooth! 
But  I  must  needs  be  patient,  play  the  wife, 
The  humble  fool  and  footstool  of  my  lord! 
Nay,  in  that  hour,  when,  pitiless,  he  tore 
Iphigenia  from  me,  all  my  life, 
That  ran  with  woman-sweetness  in  my  veins, 
Turned  to  a  deadly  venom,  and  I  swore 
A  mother's  vengeance  on  her  cruel  sire. 
And,  had  I  joy  to  see  the  beacon  flare — 
Yea!  for  I  knew  the  hour  at  last  was  come. 
Now  shall  the  shade  of  my  poor  little  one 
Wander  no  more,  nor  guilt  of  children's  blood, 
Unhallowed,  hang  on  the  infected  air. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Woman,  you  rob  our  ancient  tongues  of  speech- 
Can  you  so  boast  of  so  accurst  a  deed! 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

The  deed  was  good,  and  I  am  filled  with  joy, 
And  face  the  coming  days  with  steadfast  heart. 
I  hated  Agamemnon, — he  is  dead ; 
I  love  /Egisthus — he,  my  husband,  lives; 
19 


Orestes,  A  Tragedy 


And  Argos,  its  old  phantoms  fled  away, 
Shall  see  the  golden  age  come  back  once  more. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

For  us  no  King  whose  wife  must  murder  for  him — 
The  son  of  Agamemnon  is  our  King. 

EURYBATES. 

Yea!  what  of  him,  Orestes,  whom  you  sent 
Bond-slave  to  Phokis — he  shall  be  our  King. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

No  bond-slave  he,  but  in  the  pious  care 

Of  an  old  kinsman ;  he  is  yet  a  boy, 

Too  young  to  rule,  and  I  would  shield  his  youth 

Far  from  this  fearful  Fury-haunted  air. 

TALTHYBIOS. 

Nay,  woman,  tell  us  no  such  empty  tale — 

The  very  children  here  in  Argos  know, 

The  very  stones,  and  shall  the  gods  not  know! 

Yea!  we  are  old,  and  all  our  strength  is  dust, 

All  that  is  left  us  now  our  sure  sad  eyes — 

Beware  of  what  the  eyes  of  aged  men 

See,  Clytemnestra,  in  the  glass  of  time. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Peace !     I  hear  naught  but  dotard  wagging  tongues. 
2Q 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


(jEgisthus  enters,  and  stands  by  Clytemnestra's 
side.  Facing  the  people,  she  takes  his  hand  and 
looks  proudly  into  his  face) 

Here  is  your  King,  ^Egisthus, — and  my  lord! 

TALTHYBIOS. 

You  will  remember — when  Orestes  comes. 


21 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


ACT  II 

SCENE  i 

Argos.  Palace  of  the  Atreida:  on  the  left.  On  the 
right,  the  tomb  of  Agamemnon,  a  mound  overgrown 
with  grasses  and  wild  flowers.  Further  back  to  the 
right,  rocks  and  trees.  Time — Spring. 

(Enter  Orestes  and  Pylades  from  hiding  among 
the  rocks) 

ORESTES. 

0  Pylades,  is  this  my  father's  grave? 

The  man  that  made  me  out  of  rocks  and  dreams — 
My  father,  Pylades,  does  he  lie  here? 
This  warrior  that  has  changed  to  little  flowers! 
And  all  the  sound  that  once  was  sword  and  spear 
Is  nothing  but  a  thought  upon  a  grave. 

1  know  the  lot  of  man  upon  the  earth, 
Young  as  I  am,  dear  father  lying  there, 
The  tasks  of  men  so  stern  and  terrible, 
And  all  the  stormy  terror  of  the  fate 

Of  him  who  holds  a  nation  in  his  hands. 
How  can  a  woman  know  what  we  must  do — 
The  dreadful  duties  that  belong  to  kings; 
22 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


She  has  one  little  baby  on  her  breast, 

And  that  to  her  is  all  the  singing  world: 

But  God  put  in  our  hearts  the  sound  of  war, 

And  the  wild  love  of  fighting  for  our  land. 

I  was  so  small  a  lad,  and  only  knew 

The  roughness  of  your  beard  against  my  cheek, 

And  all  the  lonely  strength  of  your  sad  eyes; 

But  the  gods  sent  you  to  me  in  many  dreams, 

Where  I,  a  captive  in  a  little  isle, 

Would  hear  you  nightly  call  me,  hear  you  say, 

"  Orestes,  in  that  hour  you  are  a  man, 

Return  to  Argos,  and  avenge  your  sire  " : 

And,  when  the  manhood  grew  upon  my  cheek, 

To  Delphi,  at  the  gold  Apollo's  shrine, 

I  knelt  for  counsel,  and  his  word  was  this — 

"  Follow  your  father's  slayers  through  the  world." 

Thus  am  I  here  to  lay  upon  your  grave 

My  tears,  my  love,  this  lock  of  votive  hair, 

And  all  the  holy  purpose  of  my  life     .     .     . 

(He  lays  a  lock  of  hair  on  the  grave  and  turns 
again  to  Py lades) 

How  strange  yon  daisy,  such  a  peaceful  thing, 
The  children's  toy,  dare  bloom  there  unafraid, 
And  the  soft  grass  move  idle  in  the  wind, 
Where  the  great  King,  all  thunder  and  all  doom, 
My  father,  Agamemnon,  takes  his  sleep! 
23 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


(Electra    enters,    followed    by    maidens    bearing 
funeral  libatisns) 

Whose  face  is  this  with  eyes  so  holy  with  sorrow 
This   April   day — and   all    these   weeping  maidens 
following  her? 

PYLADES. 

It  is  Electra — let  us  draw  aside 

Within  the  shadows  of  the  rocks  and  trees; 

She  brings  her  tears  too  to  your  father's  grave. 

(Orestes  and  Pylades  withdraw) 

ELECTRA.      (Approaching  Agamemnon's  tomb) 
Father,  dread  king,  and  in  the  world  of  ghosts 
Still  Agamemnon,  I,  your  daughter,  bring 
These  flowers  of  April  and  these  offerings 
Of  honey  and  wine  to  your  immortal  sleep, 
And  on  your  stern  and  solemn  sepulchre 
Pour  a  child's  love  and  make  a  childish  prayer: 
O  send  Orestes  back  to  save  our  land, 
Our  golden  Argos  turned  into  a  sty 
Of  luxury  effeminate  and  foul, 
Once  such  a  land  of  soldiers  and  of  gods — 
Ah!  send  him  back,  my  brother,  with  his  sword, 
To  purge  yon  palace  and  to  cleanse  the  shrines. 
There  is  no  man  in  Argos  now  but  slaves, 
For  the  foul  thing  that  stole  my  father's  throne 
24 


Richard  Le  Galllenne 


Put  manhood  into  chains;  I,  a  king's  daughter, 
Of  a  race  divine,  am  but  a  slave 
Within  my  father's  house — yet  I  have  dreams, 
Dread  dreams,  that  say  the  doom  is  coming  on  them, 
The  cleansing  doom,  and  that  Orestes'  ship  is  on 
the  sea. 

(Enter  'Clytemnestra  from  the  palace:  she  ap- 
proaches the  grave  of  Agamemnon,  and  ad- 
dresses Electro) 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Child,  it  is  well  to  weep  upon  this  grave, 
And  bring  him  all  the  laurels  of  the  world, 
But  you  who  love  your  father  with  such  love, 
Why  follow  up  your  mother  with  such  hate? 
How  can  you  understand,  or  how  I  tell, 
The  sorrows  of  a  mother  in  this  world — 
You  but  a  maid  that  never  carried  here 
A  calling  flower  that  needs  a  mother's  breast : 
You  cannot  know — ah!  may  you  never  know 
What  agony  it  is  to  see  the  babe 
That  grew  in  your  young  womb,  a  radiant  thing, 
Carried  to  death  to  save  a  race  of  fools. 
You  never  yet  have  known  that  fearful  thing — 
To  lie  beside  a  man  you  did  not  love, 
And  yet  be  mother  of  his  lovely  babes: 
Ah !  blame  me  not,  knowing  I  must  not  speak 
Of  Agamemnon  all  my  dread  of  him, 
25 


Orestes j  A   Tragedy 


I  love  /Egisthus — love  came  at  the  last, 
After  the  long,  long  hatred  of  your  sire, 
And  all  the  tears  for  Iphigenia's  death.  ' 

ELECTRA. 

Ah!  mother,  but  I  loved  my  father's  face; 

He  was  so  beautiful  and  such  a  king! 

I  know  so  little  yet  of  the  sad  world, 

How  can  I  know  these  strange  deep  things  you  say? 

Only  I  know  I  loved  my  father's  face, 

And  hate  the  sword  that  took  it  from  my  eyes — 

That  perfumed  pretty  copy  of  a  king 

That  sits  upon  my  father's  golden  throne. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Do  we  bear  children,  rear  them  in  a  dream, 
And  watch  them  growing  in  an  ecstacy, 
That  when  their  faces  mount  as  high  as  ours, 
Their  eyes  dart  flames  out  at  us,  and  their  tongues 
Dare  to  talk  thus!    Daughter,  beware,  the  gods 
Have  whips  for  thankless  children. 

ELECTRA. 

The  gods  are  with  my  grief,  not  with  your  sin. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Nay,  but  I'll  find  a  way  to  rule  your  tongue, 
And  drive  these  fairy  notions  from  your  head. 
How  long  in  Argos  is  it  that  a  child 
Was  set  above  its  parent! 
26 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


ELECTRA. 

Since  my  father's  death — 
I  said  his  death — I  used  no  other  word. 

CLYTEMNESTRA.  (As  if  about  to  strike  her} 
The  furies  rend  you!  Do  you  see  yon  hind, 
Gnarled  with  long  labour  and  borne  down  with 

years  ? 

Thou  shalt  be  his  to  keep  his  cottage  bright, 
Fetch  wood  and  water  and  make  soft  his  bed    .    .    . 

ELECTRA. 

Better  the  wife  of  such  than  of  your  lord. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

His  shall  you  be  ere  nightfall — by  the  gods! 

ELECTRA. 

I  see  the  gods — their  backs  are  turned  on  you. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

O  holy  Zeus!  my  dream!  so  went  my  dream. 

(Exit,  holding  her  hands  on  high,  as  in  despair 
and  supplication) 

ELECTRA.     (Again   approaching   Agamemnon's    tomb 

and  throwing  more  flowers) 
O  send  Orestes  back  to  save  our  land! 
27 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


(Finds  lock  of  hair  on  the  tomb,  and  starts  back} 

Callirhoe,  what  is  this!  a  lock  of  hair! 

A  man's  short  curl, — Callirhoe,  what  is  this! 

Is  there  a  man  in  Argos,  after  all  ? 

A  man's  short  curl !    O  might  I  see  his  face 

Who  dares  thus  honour  Agamemnon's  tomb, 

Who  thus  in  secret  loves  my  father's  grave! 

CALLIRHOE. 

It  is  most  strange — and  look  you  here  and  here, 
Mistress,  the  new-made  footsteps  of  a  man  .  .  . 

ELECTRA. 

If  it  should  be  Orestes  .  .  . 

CALLIRHOE. 

But  mark  these  strangers  coming  from  the  grove. 

(Enter  Orestes  and  Py lades) 

ORESTES.      (Addressing  Electro) 

Lady,  two  travellers  we  from  Phokis  come. 

ELECTRA. 

Phokis!  my  brother!  speak    .    .    .    your  news,  your 
news! 

ORESTES. 

I  heard  your  prayers,  but  first  the  gods  have  heard: 
28 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


Orestes  is  in  Argos,  'tis  his  hair 
You  hold  there  in  your  hand. 

ELECTRA. 

Orestes  here!     O  sirs,  is  your  news  true? 

ORESTES. 

As  true  as  I  stand  up  to  tell  it  here. 

ELECTRA. 

O  holy  Zeus!  and  thou  tremendous  shade! 

Not  all  in  vain  the  broken-hearted  pray, 

But    the   blue   heavens    give   ear,    and    the    dread 

powers 

Of  the  dark  grave  work  toward  their  answer. 
But,  sirs,  what  token  bring  you  of  your  truth? 
News  strange  as  yours  needs  witness  scarce   less 

strange. 

Before  I  desperately  dare  believe 
Words  like  the  sacred   lightning  blinding  me, 
Give  me  some  sign  this  is  no  cruel  dream. 

ORESTES. 

Sister,  I  am  Orestes. 

ELECTRA. 
You! 

ORESTES. 
Yea,  I. 

29 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


ELECTRA. 
Orestes ! 

ORESTES. 

See  where  but  now  I  severed  from  my  head 
The  lock  you  found  upon  our  father's  grave, 
And  see 

(Opening  his  mantle,  and  showing  a  little  robe 
that  he  carries) 

this  little  robe,  with  figures  wrought 
Of  dog  and  fawn,  the  same  you  wove  when  I, 
A  little  lad,  went  to  the  Phokian  isle; 
And  see  upon  my  brow  the  scar  I  got 
Me  in  some  childish  hurt. 

ELECTRA. 

It  is  Orestes    .    .     .     O  'tis  wonderful! 

My  heart  will  break.     It  is  too  great  a  joy    .     .    . 

(Seems  as  if  about  to  fall  fainting  into  Orestes' 
arms) 

ORESTES. 

Sister,  dear  sister,  hide  your  heart  awhile; 
So  many  eyes  surround  us,  so  many  ears; 
I  too  would  hold  you  here  against  my  heart, 
And  so  shall  hold  you  when  my  work  is  done. 
30 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


ELECTRA. 

Orestes — my  Orestes,  who  to  me 

Must  father  be,  and  mother,  and  yourself, 

And  my  lost  sister  given  to  the  gods; 

At  least  my  eyes  may  hold  you  to  my  breast, 

Eyes  that  have  watched  ten  years  for  this  one  hour, 

Waited  and  watched  and  wept  ten  leaden  years  .  .  . 


ORESTES. 

The  time  of  tears  is  gone — the  hour  of  blood 
Draws  nigh   .   .   .   then  doom,  and  ghostly  laughter 
Of  the  outraged  gods,  and  at  last  peace, 
Because  the  price  is  paid. 
Electra,  life  is  strange  and  terrible, 
A  web  woven  by  unseen  fingers  in  the  grave, 
And  stained  by  dreadful  doings  not  our  own; 
The  deeds  of  fathers  that  destroy  their  sons, 
And  make  their  daughters  fair  and  flitting  things. 
Voices  and  dreams  and  phantoms,  things  of  air 
And  the  dim  dust,  rule  all  this  stable  show 
Of  granite  and  grandeur  that  we  call  the  world : 
And  we  young  creatures  know  not  what  we  do, 
Save  that  we  do  the  bidding  of  a  dream; 
And  know  not  where  we  go,  save  that  wre  take 
The  pathway  pointed  by  some  shadowy  hand ; 
And  what  we  are  we  know  not,  save  that  we 
Are  things  of  magic  sorrow  and  magic  joy, 
And  deeds  and  dooms  tremendous,  and  then — dust. 
31 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


ELECTRA. 

Did  the  dreams  come  to  you  as  well  as  me? 

Faces  and  cries  and  fingers  in  the  night, 

And  a  long  wailing  through  the  sleeping  halls  .  .  . 

ORESTES. 

Yea,  and  my  father  came  in  his  war-gear, 

Stood  in  the  moonlight,  and  called  out  my  name: 

A  god  he  seemed,  all  gold  and  glorious; 

His  voice  was  like  a  battle  in  the  night, 

And  sternly  sweet  as  trumpets  in  the  dawn. 

There  in  the  moon  he  froze  me  with  the  tale 

Of  the  dog's  death  they  dealt  to  a  great  king, 

The  bath  in  which  they  trapped  him,  and  the  net 

Meshing  the  might  and  fury  of  his  limbs; 

The  pale-faced  blundering  stabbings  of  a  foe 

That  needs  must  call  a  woman  to  the  work, 

Nor  even  murder  bravely  like  a  man. 

There  in  the  moon  he  stretched  his  maimed  arms, 

Suppliant,  toward  me,  for  they  dare  not  leave 

The  piteous  corse  its  great  war-wielding  hands, 

Lest  he  should  pull  them  down  into  his  grave — • 

And,  as  the  day  was  breaking,  he  would  end : 

"  Orestes,  in  that  hour  you  are  a  man, 

Return  to  Argos,  and  avenge  your  sire." 

ELECTRA. 

So  to  me  came  he  many  a  haunted  night. 
32 


Richard  Le  Galllenne 


ORESTES. 

But  there  were  other  hauntings — voices  in  my  blood 

Calling  for  vengeance,  dreadful  urgings-on 

Within  the  very  marrow  of  my  bones, 

And  my  whole  body,  as  I  came  to  man, 

Grew  more  and  more  a  horrid  instrument 

To  work  the   retribution  of  the  gods; 

All  my  young  days  passed  in  a  dream  of  blood, 

And  all  my  boyish  sport  to  see  him  die; 

My  very  thews  and  sinews  dreamed  of  him, 

And  slew  and  slew  and  slew  him  in  my  sleep, 

Again  and  yet  again,  through  all  those  years. 

At  length  it  seemed  the  deed  was  ripe  to  do, 

And  I  at  Delphi,  in  Apollo's  shrine, 

Bowed  low  my  head,  for  counsel  of  the  god. 

Like  some  cold  star,  the  silver,  solemn  voice 

Spake  in  the  holy  silence,  bidding  me 

Forth  on  this  sacred  errand  of  my  sword, 

And  warning  me  beware  the  fate  of  sons 

To  whom  the  blood  of  fathers  cries  in  vain: 

For,  unassuaged,  the  ghosts  of  murdered  men 

Wander  below,  unhonoured  of  the  dead, 

And  their  spilt  blood,  till  blood  be  spilt  again, 

Takes    monstrous    forms,    and    breeds    unhallowed 

shapes 
Of  madness  and  of  poison. 

ELECTRA. 

Had  I  a  hundred  lives  I'd  give  them  all, 
33 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


So  he  might  hear  the  solace  underground, 

Of  blood  soft  dripping,  rain-like,  on  his  grave. 

ORESTES. 

Yea,  sister,  such  a  grief  for  such  a  wrong 
Needs  not  the  urgence  of  a  threatening  god: 
It  is  enough  to  have  a  father  slain, 
Electra  for  a  sister,  and  one's  land 
Beneath  the  bloody  heel  of  brazen  lust. 
O  sacred  Argos,  little  golden  land, 
So  big  with  deeds  illustrious,  chosen  realm 
Of  men  so  godlike  that  the  gods  themselves 
Mate  here  with  mortals,  and  immortal  feet 
Walk  up  and  down  the  rocky  winding  ways, 
Fellows  and  friends  of  our  humanity     .     .     . 
At  last  impatient  youth  has  grown  to  man, 
And  here  at  last  I  bring  my  virgin  sword, 
Sacred  to  Argos,  servant  of  the  sky, 
And  executioner  of  the  will  of  heaven. 
Now,  sister,  mark  me  what  my  counsel  is: 
Pylades  here,  my  friend  and  sword-fellow, 
And  I  will  first  seek  audience  of  the  queen, 
Feigning  us  Phokian  merchants,  bringing  news 
Of  my  own  death — the  rest  shall  follow  on. 
But  now  no  more  of  words — the  hour  is  here, 
O  sweet-breathed  hour!     O  blessed  shining  day! 
Vengeance  at  last — O  father  hear  my  vow, 
And  great  Apollo  watch  if  I  do  well. 

(Pours   libation   on   the   tomb} 
34 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


ELECTRA. 

An  uriknown  fear  is  on  me — fail  us  not, 

Dread  shade,  in  this  your  own  appointed  hour. 

ORESTES. 

Fate,  and  not  we,  binds  fast  their  hands  with  doom, 
The  stroke  of  destiny  goes  not  astray. 

(Orestes  and  Pylades  approach  the  door  of  the 
palace  and  knock} 

ORESTES. 

What  ho!  there. 

(Enter  servant} 

SERVANT. 

What  would  you,  sirs? 

ORESTES. 

We  seek  the  lord  and  lady  of  this  realm, 
With  messages  of  high  importance  charged. 

(Enter  Clytemnestra) 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Speak!     I   am  Clytemnestra. 

ORESTES. 

Lady,  I  bring  a  message  to  this  house 
I  were  right  glad  some  other  hand  had  brought: 
35 


Orestes,  A  Tragedy 


To  be  the  croaking  messenger  of  ill, 

And  bearer  of  bad  news  to  lofty  kings, 

No  man  desires,  nor  can  welcome  hope 

As  he  who  bears  some  long  awaited  joy 

Singing  about  him.     Would,  lady,  that  I  brought 

Some  unhoped  accident  of  heart's  desire; 

But  I,   alas!  have  bitter  news  to  tell, 

Drear  to  a  mother's  heart    .     .     . 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Sir,  speak  your  news — you  make  too  many  words — 
And  count  on  welcome  as  befits  this  house. 
(Aside}     Where  have  I  seen  those  strange  grey  eyes 
before ! 

ORESTES. 

I  ask  your  pardon,  lady,  it  was  fear 
To  wound  too  suddenly  with  cruel  news 
That  made  me  wind  about  to  tell  it  you — 
But  know  that  Pylades,,  my  friend,  and  I 
Are  Phokian  merchants  here  with  merchandise, 
And,  ere  we  sailed,  knowing  us  hither  bound, 
Strophios  came  hurriedly  and  bade  us  tell 
To  those  that  reigned  in  Argos  how  their  son, 
Entrusted  to  his  keeping  these  ten  years, 
Is  on  a  sudden  dead    .    .    . 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Orestes  dead! 

Nothing  but  woe!     Will  the  curse  never  end! 
36 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


ELECTRA.     (Aside) 
This  day  it  ends. 
(Aloud)  Orestes  dead!  then  let  Electra  die! 

(Covers  her  face  with  her  mantle  and  feigns  to 
weep) 

ALL. 

Woe!  woe!  Orestes  dead!  Orestes  dead! 

ORESTES. 

Alas!  unhappy  tongue  such  grief  to  make! 
But  I  must  needs  be  faithful  to  my  word — 
And  further  Strophios  said,  and  then  an  end: 
The  little  urn,  with  laurel  twined  around, 
Waits  there  in  Phokis — on  your  royal  will, 
There  to  be  buried,  or  across  the  sea 
Brought  home  to  Argos  and  his  sleeping  sire. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

And  we  had  dreamed  that  in  yon  little  isle, 
All  peace  and  wandering  waves,  he  should  escape 
The  doom  that  here  infects  the  very  air, 
And  fills  the  land  with  phantoms — but  in  vain 
Man  schemes  against  the  purpose  of  the  gods. 

ELECTRA.     (Aside) 

In  vain,  be  sure,  in  vain. 
37 


Orestes,  A  Tragedy 


CLYTEMNESTRA. 

But  I  must  call  my  lord  to  hear  your  news — 
Go,  one  of  you,  and  find  the  lord  ./Egisthus. 
Tell  him  that  news  of  import  grave  awaits 
His  presence  here. 

And  you,  good  sirs,  must  needs 
Be  travel-weary;  enter  in  our  house, 
And  find  such  welcome  as  the  best  of  news 
Could   not   have  bettered.      Come,    my   handmaids 

shall 
Straightway  prepare  the  soothing  bath  for  you — 

(Aside) 
Where  have  I  seen  those  strange  grey  eyes  before! 

ORESTES.     (Aside) 
The  soothing  bath! 

(Clyternnestra,    Orestes    and   Pylades    enter    the 
palace) 

(Enter  sEgisthus,  accompanied  by  servant) 

./EGISTHUS. 

Strangers  from  Phokis,  say  you? 

SERVANT. 

Yes,  my  lord. 

ELECTRA.      (Addressing  JEgisthus) 

Good  news  is  waiting  for  you  in  the  house. 
38 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


What  do  you  mean,  Electra? 

ELECTRA. 

You  may  sleep  safe  within  your  stolen  sheets; 
Orestes  is  no  more. 

/EGISTHUS. 
Orestes  dead! 

ELECTRA. 

Did  I  not  say  the  news  was  good,  ./Egisthus! 
Poor  phantom!     Painted  fungus  of  a  man! 
The  thing  that  grows  up  out  of  great  men's  graves! 
Only  a  girl  left  —  are  you  brave  enough, 
Think  you,  to  try  conclusions  with  a  girl? 


Orestes  dead! 

ELECTRA. 

Seems  it  too  good  for  true? 

^GISTHUS. 

Hell-kitten,  spare  your  little  saucy  words, 
My  thoughts  were  far  back  in  a  bloody  hour: 
I  saw  my  brothers  and  the  horrid  feast  — 
The  mangled  flesh  of  his  beloved  sons, 
Your  father's  sire  served  at  my  father's  board; 
39 


Orestes j  A   Tragedy 


You  see  but  Agamemnon  —  I  Atreus  see, 

And  my  young  brothers  slain  —  like  kitchen  offal, 

Butcher's  carrion,  food  of  kites  and  crows, 

Set  smoking  'neath  my  father's  shuddering  eyes  — 

Foul  jest  too  foul  even  for  a  devil's  mind  — 

Your  brother,  what  of  him!     See  what  I  see! 

ELECTRA. 

Nay,  but  I  see  beyond  —  Thyestes  see, 
Your  father  who  my  father's  mother  took 
Into  his  shameless  arms  —  like  son,  like  sire!  — 
And  slimed  the  house  of  Atreus,  as  the  son 
The  house  of  Agamemnon  makes  his  sty. 


The  gods  see  all  —  would  all  this  blood  might  end! 

ELECTRA. 

Into  the  house    .    .    .   there  may  be  better  news. 

(Electro,  approaches  the  door  of  the  palace,  and 
stands  in  a  listening  attitude  against  it) 

The  house  is  full  of  murmurs,  like  a  wood 
Before  a  storm;  strange  feet  move  to  and  fro, 
And  muffled  voices  —  boding  unshaped  sounds    .    .  . 
Ah!  the  clash  of  swords!    Yes!    Yes!  again,  again! 
Again,  Orestes!    Kill  him  ten  times  o'er! 
40 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


(A  cry  is  heard  in  the  palace) 
O  father,  did  you  hear  /Egisthus  cry! 
(jEgisthus  cries  within) 

/EciSTH  us.     ( Within ) 
Help!    I  am  slain! 

SERVANT.     (Rushing  in) 

Help!  help!   they  kill  the  King! 

ALL. 

The  King,  they  kill  the  King! 

(Enter  Orestes,  sword  in  hand,  followed  by  Py- 
lades) 

ORESTES. 

One  dog  the  less  in  Argos! 

ELECTRA. 

My  brave  Orestes! 

(Orestes  stands  as  in   a  dream,  silent  for  some 
moments.     Then   rouses  himself) 

ORESTES. 

0  but  the  other  task,  my  Pylades! 

1  cannot  slay  a  woman,  Pylades! 

41 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


PYLADES. 

Courage!  remember,  'tis  the  gods  that  slay — 
They  strike  but  with  your  hand. 

ORESTES. 

A  son  to  slay  a  mother — nay,  I  dare  not. 

PYLADES. 

That  must  you  dare — or  dare  the  wrath  of  heaven. 
Do  you  forget  the  voice  in  Delphi's  shrine? 

ORESTES. 

O  let  them  send  their  lightnings — why  this  hand! 

ELECTRA. 

Remember  what  you  swore  on  yonder  grave; 
Give  me  your  sword,  if  you  have  fear  to  use  it. 

(Enter  Glytemnestra) 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Woe!  they  have  slain  the  beautiful  /Egisthus! 
O  bloody  deed,  thrice  cursed  be  the  hand 
That  smote  my  sunlit  tower  of  a  man! 
O  child  unnatural!     O  womb  unstarred 
That  gave  such  offspring  to  the  bleeding  day! 

ORESTES. 

Dare  you  to  love  him  still! — then  dare  to  go 
The  way  he  went — my  sword  shall  point  the  way. 
42 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


CLYTEMNESTRA. 

What,  monster!  would  you  slay  your  mother  too! 

ORESTES. 

Mother,  it  is  too  late  to  call  me  son — 

"  Son  "    died  with  my  father.     This  sword-bearing 

shape 

Is  not  a  son,  it  is  the  thing  Heaven  makes 
Of  murdered   fathers,   and   its  name   is — Death. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

You  would  not  kill  your  mother! 

ORESTES. 

'Tis  not  I,  'tis  your  own  deed  that  kills  you, 

'Tis  the  day  you  killed  my  father 

Kills  my  mother  now.     You  should  have  thought 

on  this, 

The  hour  you  smote  yon  golden  warrior  down, 
And,  robed  in  crimson  of  his  sacred  blood, 
Made  a  new  nuptial  couch  upon  his  grave. 

CLYTEMNESTRA.    (Baring  her  bosom,  in  supplication') 
Can  you  strike  here  where  you  so  soft  have  lain, 
And,  with  vague  little  lips  in  the  still  night, 
Sought  in  a  trusting  blindness  for  your  food, 
Murmured  and  muttered  and  battled  for  this  breast 
With  baby  ringers,  and  at  length  found  peace, 
43 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


And    sleep,    all    perfumed    quiet    and    milk-white 

dreams — 
Ah!  little  fingers,  grown  to  wield  a  sword! 

ORESTES. 

Remind  me  not  of  that,  lest  it  should  seem 

I  but  revenge  myself  for  the  affront 

Nature  put  on  me,  making  you  my  mother. 

Mock  not  the  name  that  I  must  never  use, 

The  holy  word  more  happy  sons  than  I 

Wear    in    their    hearts, — foul    not    the    name    of 

mother. 

Nay!  bare  your  breast  to  him  down  there  in  hell, 
Who  with  his  lecherous  kisses  long  ago 
Defiled  the  milky  purpose  of  that  flower; 
A  witchcraft  fairness,  sweet  and  soft  for  sin, 
A  lover's  toy,  a  wanton  honey-guide 
To  snare  the  soul  of  manhood  down  to  death — 
No  breast  for  honest  babes   .    .    . 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

If  pity  move  you  not,  have  you  no  fear? 
A  mother's  blood — it  is  a  sacred  thing. 

ORESTES. 

Is  not  a  father's  blood  a  sacred  thing! 
I  hear  it  calling  out  through  all  your  words, 
And  the  gods  calling   .   .    . 
44 


Richard  Le  Galllenne 


CLYTEMNESTRA. 

The  gods  are  very  strange — who  knows  the  gods! 
What  man  is  he  full  sure  of  their  intent! 
Me  too  the  gods  befriend — if  not  this  hour, 
Some  bitter  day  to  come,  when  you  shall  go 
Hunted  across  the  world  by  night-black  hounds, 
Whose  eyes,  like  burning  lamps,  shall  never  close. 
Man  may  with  man  take  side,  but  nature's  heart 
Is  kind  to  mothers,  whispers  oracles 
Into  a  woman's  ear  unknown  to  man: 
Let  Agamemnon  have  his  gods,  yet  Heaven 
Has  somewhere  kindness  for  a  woman  too, 
And  he  who  sent  my  daughter  to  the  fire 
Shall  not  go  scatheless  in  the  courts  of  Heaven. 

ORESTES. 

My  sister  died  for  Argos — 'twas  the  gods, 
Not  Agamemnon,  snatched  her  from  your  side. 
'Twas  but  the  fearful  office  of  a  king, 
Who  more  than  wife  or  child  or  sister  dear, 
Or  father  or  mother,  must  hold  dear  his  land. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

Argos  and  Agamemnon  and  the  gods! 
What  are  all  these  but  hollow  boom  of  words, 
That  have  no  meaning  in  a  woman's  ear 
That  holds  her  human  blossom  in  her  hands. 
Better  a  land  forswear  such  gods  as  crave 
A  mother's  heart-break  and  a  maiden's  blood — 
Let  Argos  die  for  Argos,  not  my  child!        | 
45 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


ORESTES. 

Beware,  in  this  last  flutter  of  your  breath, 

How  you  offend  the  holy  presences 

That  watch  this  moment  with  their  awful  eyes. 

0  mother,  go  not  sacrilegious  hence 
That  hath  so  black  a  burden  on  your  soul, 
Nay,  rather  with  some  grace  of  contrite  words 
Take  your  last  look  of  yon  all-seeing  sun, 

For  my  young  heart  must  still  believe  the  gods, 
And  do  my  father's  bidding,  though  I  die. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

1  do  believe  you  do  you  know  not  what, 
And  you  the  victim  are  as  well  as  I; 

And  fain  I  would  call  back  those  fearful  hounds 

Whose  hot  and  hurrying  breath  is  on  the  air. 

Yes!  take  me  to  him  then,  for  I  would  sleep 

By  that  kind  side,  where  only  have  I  found, 

In  this  short  wintry  watch  of  cruel  days, 

Some  sweetness  of  the  bitter  thing  called  life — 

I  loved  .ZEgisthus,  loving  him  shall  die, 

And  dying,  seek  his  arms  beneath  the  ground: 

Yon  shade  and  me  the  holy  gods  shall  judge, 

No  maiden's  girdle,  nor  a  beardless  boy, 

All  green  and  dreamstruck  in  a  tangled  world. 

ELECTRA. 

Even  of  death  she  makes  adultery. 
46 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


ORESTES. 

The  gods — not  I! 

(Clytemnestra  moves  toward  palace  and  enters, 
followed  by  Orestes,  sword  in  hand) 

(Clytemnestra  cries  within) 

(Re-enter  Orestes,  shaken  and  exhausted,  with 
staring  eyes.  Leans  on  Pylades.  With  him 
enter  two  servants  carrying  the  robe  in  which 
Agamemnon  was  murdered) 

ORESTES. 

O  Pylades,  it  was  a  fearful  deed! 

ELECTRA. 

Our  father  smiles  upon  you  from  his  grave. 

ORESTES. 

Ah!  but  my  mother's  eyes    .    .    . 
How  long  ago  it  seems!     Yet  was  she  here 
A  moment  since — soft  breath  and  woman's  tears . . . 
Still  the  same  sun  .  .  .  still  the  same  faces  here  .  .  . 
And  still  all  changed    .    .    . 
Pylades,  think  you  that  the  gods  know  all? 
Methinks  the  work  of  gods  too  dread  a  thing 
For  shuddering  hands  of  perishable  clay, 
And  hearts  like  running  water — I  do  fear 
47 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


The  deed  I  did  was  feller  than  the  deed 
It  would  avenge — that  some  old  nature  in  us 
Older  than  the  gods  cries  out  upon  me 
As  a  thing  abhorred     .     .     . 

But  'twas  for  him  I  did  it — 

(Pointing   to   Agamemnon's   robe} 

See  this  royal  robe,  people  of  Argos, 
See  these  bloody  stains,  these  rents,  these  gashes, 
This  piteous  pattern — Agamemnon's  blood ! 
For  him  and  Argos  have  I  done  this  deed 
That  seemed  but  now  the  very  will  of  heaven. 

PYLADES. 

Fear  not,  but  smile  upon  this  people  here, 

Freed  from  foul  chains  by  your  avenging  sword, 

That  cleansed  the  land  of  serpents  set  on  thrones. 

See  how  your  golden  Argos  shines  again, 

A  jewel  on  the  bosom  of  the  world, 

Laughs  and  is  glad  to  have  Orestes  King  .  .  . 

ALL. 

Orestes  king!     Long  live  our  King  Orestes! 

ORESTES.      (Pointing  to  Agamemnon's  robe  and  mov- 
ing toward  the  tomb} 
Lay  this  as  offering  on  my  father's  grave, 
And  I, 

48 


Richard  Le  Gallienne 


(Takes  an  olive  branch  in  his  hand) 

this  suppliant  olive  in  my  hand, 
Will  as  a  pilgrim  fare  to  Delphi's  shrine, 
Kneeling  for  benediction  of  the  god. 

(Furies  appear  behind  Agamemnon's   tomb) 

What  shapes  are  these  that  glare  so  strangely  at 
me? 

ELECTRA. 

You  are  o'erwrought — come  rest  within  the  house. 

(More  shapes  of  Furies  appear) 

ORESTES. 

Yonder  again,  away!    what  would  you  of  me! 
I  did  but  what  the  holy  gods  decreed, 
And  my  own  sire  commanded. 

What  are  you 

That  mop  and  mow  about  me,  and  stretch  out 
Your  bony  fingers! 

(Orestes  turns  hither  and  thither  about  the  stage, 
seeking  to  escape  the  Furies,  who  menace  him 
on  every  side) 

What  are  you  that  shake 
Your  snaky  locks,  and  with  such  baleful  eyes 
49 


Orestes,  A   Tragedy 


Pierce  to  the  quaking  centre  of  my  soul! 

O  what  are  you,  you  webbed  and  taloned  things 

That  steal  like  smoke  about  me  and  about! 

See  you  these  shapes,  or  are  they,  Pylades, 

Nightmares  and  goblins  of  the  tortured  mind? 

My  eyes  are  filled  with  blood,  and  rending  fires 

Blaze  in  my  brain — still,   still  they  swrarm   about 

me     ... 

Is  this  to  do  the  bidding  of  the  gods! — 
Horror!  they  are  my  mother's  vengeful  hounds. 

CURTAIN 


t  > 


*i  ''^* 

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